Gray. Bland. Dirt, black as black. The space was small, where the murderer was contained, and this is all she saw. It was almost like her former “home”, deep within the cellars of the Slaughtered Lamb. Except people were shooting uncomfortable glances at her through the prison bars--yes the circus freak. Everyone stare and get your gold’s worth.
Or perhaps, it was the little collection of rat bodies she’d had spread out in front of her, splayed open, tiny organs painstakingly removed. Her nails had grown stubby, her fingers raw in scratching out sharp pieces of sediment in the stone wall to practice on her little “friends”.
Days went by, Perhaps. How was she to know the turning of the day and night in this place? Time passed, she at least knew that, and the longer it passed, the less and less she was left with medical inquisitions, with crude remarks, or with threats. In time, no one cared enough to ask their questions, and she might be left with a meal a day. Some days, she was forgotten. There were more important things to deal with in the city of Stormwind than one piece of filth isolated from the rest of society. Anisse came to appreciate the silence. And when she could not bear the silence, there were always the terrified squeaks of rats to occupy her.
Yet, in all the days she had stared into the bland gray stone of the wall, the young prisoner that none would confront received a visitor.
The iron bars of the prison screeched across the dirty stone floor, and the captive flinched, curling up into her corner. After an exchange of whispers, a figure stepped in to the open prison door, and it was shut behind him slowly, again grating against the floor. The lamplight by wish he used to alleviate the darkness was blinding, and she cursed aloud as it shone down upon her.
“You look terrible,” came the soft voice of a male, and indeed, she did. Not that she cared what she looked like. But the smell of feces could choke most people in that prison.
“Die in a fire.” It was her only response, and one would wonder if it was directed to the dark figure, or the lamplight that so assaulted her senses. There was no magic she could hope to use to put out the light here, however, and her quiet voice did not back the threat--or insult. She peeked out of her loose hair, the dirty mahogany strands shielding her just a bit against the light’s full intensity.
“You know who I am, Anna?” The voice was too soft, too weak, but recognizable. All too recognizable.
“Yes. And you can leave now,” she said dully. A squeak rang off in the dark as a rat was caught in one of her traps--one that a passing nurse had initially left, taking pity upon the prisoner. Anna scrambled to it immediately. They were always best to operate on while still warm.
“Then…then you know I can’t do that,” the man’s voice seemed to take on a pitying turn, but she did not respond, much too concentrated on whatever she might be doing in the corner of her prison. He swallowed hard in the awkward silence, hearing the sound of scraping, of flesh being torn into. “…Anna. What the hell…”
The body of the rat slid out into the light of the lamp, its tiny intestines pulled out, and wrapped around its head like a funeral shroud. He could hear the spiteful grin in the sound of his sister’s voice: “I’ve been practicing. Quicker now, isn’t it, brother?”
“S--stop it. Anna…”
“I bet I could eviscerate a human in all of five minutes now, depending on what it is I wanted. What do you th--”
Quintin bolted forth from his chair and kicked away the damn rat, and smashed the rest of her “collection” into the stony floor, ruining them. His amber eyes were on the young woman as she slammed herself against the prison wall, silenced. But he was already angry.
“Do you know what I had to do to keep you alive in here, Anna?! What…what you did to that family..? Took up the rest of the Handhour fortune, paying off their heartache. Hhh…” He slammed his hand against the prison bar, staring out through them now. “Not that anything could pay off murder. Seems there’s mercy for crazy people in the world after all.” He glanced back at Anisse painfully. “I gave up everything to keep you safe. And you’re in here killing rats. So much for saving our family name, eh? Mother would be so proud.
A soft scoffing sound came from the woman in the corner, but otherwise she was silent. Quintin’s hands came then, jostling her as he dragged her up to her feet. He shook his young sister violently, forcing her to look upon the miserable man she had turned him into. Indeed, he had not eaten in days, his breath sour with whiskey.
“We…we can make this right, Anna. I can fix this, make you all…better again. Let me help you, please!” Despite her small protests, her wriggles, Quintin pawed at her face, trying to brush the mess of dark, tangled hair away from her so he could look fully upon her. Somewhere, here, there was his sister, right?! “Remember the stables? The gardens? We can rebuild it all, and I’ll take care of you, Anna, like I used to. Just let me--”
With all the strength she had left in her, Anisse raked her red fingers across his face, trying to drive him away, push. He’d let go of her finally, letting her drop back into the dark corner that had become her friend. Her legs dragged up against herself, she rocked in place, staring at nothing but the inky blackness around her.
Wordless, her brother left her there again, with a slam of the prison door. Once again, Anisse was abandoned like a well-used rag doll.
Once again, alone.
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